by Amy Piers
“The man hole!” he yells.
“He’s on the barn roof?” the supervisor clarifies, with sheer terror in his eyes.
I run outside to the nearest trash can and reunite with my hot dog of regret. I throw up twice more, for good luck. I lift my eyes to see a wiry little silhouette climbing on a rusted, fake barn roof.
You won, Dallas. You won.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Life’s Short—Run Fast
[I see red.]
The roof at Log Nation is not flat like the one at my old school. It’s pointy like a barn, and there are rusty nails hanging out because whoever made it didn’t do a good job with a hammer. There are some holes in the roof where the tin part got very thin, and when I peek through the hole, I see people having fun in the logs. The bunny must be dead by now, and something I know for sure: you can’t bring a dead thing back to life, unless his name is Jesus. I know, because Rachel told me. I don’t care if I die from climbing on this roof, because then I can tell Grey all about the Under Sea Adventure. He is going to be so jealous.
I climb even higher, to the most high point which is like a chimney. I can see the entire park from here, even cities and seas. I’ve never been somewhere this tall, and I wonder if Grey can touch my hand if I reach up high enough. I stand up on the chimney, and lift my arms as far as they go.
I cup my hands around my mouth to make my voice louder, “I’m sorry I didn’t save you.” He doesn’t yell back.
“GREY!” I yell. “Can you hear me?”
I will keep yelling until he answers.
[I see you.]
My eyes are glued to Dallas’s silhouette atop the highest point of the barn. As he lifts his hands, I fall to my knees. My gaze is fixed; I’m stealing the privacy of his last moments. What I’d give just to know why he snapped—I want to rewind time and keep him inside the safety of his home. I’ll be held responsible for this, maybe even put in jail. Once the internet gets a hold of this story I’ll be a global laughing stock at best—a purely incompetent human in the public eye. There goes my career as a Behavior Specialist, flushed down the toilet of shame. As Dallas threatens to end his life, he takes mine with him.
I hear the sound of helicopter blades chopping through the sky, with a rescue paramedic dangling precariously on a rope. So it’s come to this? All of the intervention, the effort, the input, the days I’ve spent as a punching bag… and it’s come to this. What if Dallas jumps before he’s rescued? They have no idea what they’re doing. They don’t know how to deal with him—he’s not like other kids. I should be in the helicopter, but I’m right here on the ground like a sitting duck.
In a mix of terror and relief, I watch as he collects Dallas like a swinging pendulum—but I know we’re not out of the woods yet. Doesn’t he know how strong Dallas can be when he’s angry? What if he drops him in mid-air? I scream his name into the sky, while a sickeningly entertained crowd that gather like vultures. They record the so-called rescue on their cell phones, while Dallas’s life literally hangs in the balance. I want to hit the phones out of all their hands, but the little of my sensibility remaining tells me that would be a bad idea. I am not about to throw fuel on the 'crazy lady who lost her kid' fire. Instead, I turn around and yell, “Have some respect!”
A dad-aged guy puts his phone down and encourages the others to do so as well.
They don't.
[I see red.]
A man in a helicopter catched me, and he’s trying to kill me in the middle of the sky. If I can just wiggle outside his grip, I will fly like the blue car. I wonder if arms work like wings? Will I glide? Will I fly if I flap them up and down? I could try, if only he wasn’t holding me so tight. The helicopter man chokes my breath, and my screams are like whispers when I mean them like yells.
“GREY!” I whisper-yell.
This helicopter guy won’t win! I am the winner, every single time! He climbs us into the helicopter which has no doors and connects me to himself with a special harness. Another very, very muscley guy holds me still while the harness goes on. If I try my best, with all my strong, I can still jump outside the helicopter. After all, there are no doors.
“Shit—he’s a force to be reckoned with,” the rescue man says. (He sweared!) “I’m going to need one of you to buckle us into the seat somehow. We need to be anchored.”
The other big man pushes us back away from the door hole and threads a seat belt through both harnesses. I hear it click in place, and the second strong guy stands in front of us. My legs kick at him, before he uses his giant arms to stop me.
“A force? More like rabid,” the second guy says. I know what that means, because the Vampire Bat killed a man from rabies. “Do we need to sedate him?
“Is that even legal for a child this age?” the first guy, the one who connected me with a leash, says. I don’t know what “sedate” means, but I have a feeling it means for them to kill me. I start kicking and screaming all over again.
“We’re close to the ground—medical crew can make the call. Hopefully, they’ll get the mom to the hospital as soon as possible,”
[I see you.]
The Police arrive, parting the crowd like the Red Sea. They whisk me away, while the relentless pack of vipers snap pictures in my face. We get in the back seat of the police car, driving with lights and sirens out of the parking lot and onto the freeway. News crews are pulling up, and I use my sweater to block my face.
“Where are you taking me?” I ask, terrified of the answer.
“The boy has been taken to the hospital,” the Police Officer replies.
“Is he alive?” I stammer.
“He’s physically fine—apart from a few cuts and bruises. I mean, it’s a goddamn miracle,” he explains. “Mentally, though… well, we have a few questions.”
“He’s been going through a rough time, and he’s improved so much. I thought he was able to handle this now he’s catching up, but he obviously can’t. I shouldn’t have brought him here. Am I in trouble?” I rant, words falling from my mouth like vomit.
“No, you’re not in trouble—we're just taking you to the hospital,” the Police Officer answers. "We have a lot of questions."
“Did you call his Mom?” I ask, cringing.
“Wait—you’re not the child’s mother?” he roars.
“No, I’m his Behavior Specialist. I brought him here today as a reward that he had to earn—three months—no, four whole months without running away. Then out of the blue, he takes off on a ride,” I rant again, wishing my mouth would stop moving. The shock causes the floodgates to open, and the more I verbally throw up, the more I hate Dallas all over again. I have never felt such deep love and equally deep disdain for another human being in all my life.
“You do realize his Mom has probably seen this on the news before she’s heard from you,” the Officer reveals. “We need to contact her immediately.”
I know this, but it still punches me in the gut. To add insult to injury, I’ll never get another client ever again. I guess it’s time to acknowledge this kid has ruined my confidence, kindness, and career. There’s no harm in kicking a horse while it’s down—so let’s call his mother and make sure she knows I’m a giant, irresponsible failure.
A glorified babysitter is all I ever was, a huge waste of money—Jacob was right.
[I see red.]
I whizzed to the hospital in a helicopter, and they ran me inside to a bed. I stopped trying to get away, just to trick them. When they stopped trying to catch me, I jumped off the bed again. I always win! I ran through the halls, and then banged to the floor with a big man nurse holding me down. They took me back to the bed, and the big man held me tight while a doctor squeezed medicine in my arm like a shot.
The medicine is making me… NO! I WILL WIN! But the medicine is making me feel… so… sleepy.
[I see you.]
I rush into the hospital, while the police officers call Dallas’s mom. I find him out cold in a hospital bed with a six-po
int restraint. The sight of his seemingly lifeless body stops me in my tracks, as I wonder what on Earth preceded this restraint system. The rescue team briefs the medical staff, and I try to hear what they’re saying.
“I don’t know the child’s history, but I’m not sure he’s mentally stable,” one says.
“He didn’t speak at all—maybe he’s nonverbal?” the other adds.
The team notices me standing beside Dallas’s bed, and their conversation grinds to a halt. They descend on me like a pack of wolves.
“Why is he unconscious?” I ask.
“Ma’am, are you this child’s caregiver?” the Doctor asks.
I nod my head, “I am his Behavior Specialist. I brought him to Discovery Country today the police are calling his mother.”
“We had to sedate him—he ran away several times,” the Doctor explains. He holds a clipboard and a pen, and curiously asks, “We’re unable to move forward with his case until we solve some of the mystery surrounding what happened. Can you give us some background? Name, date of birth, diagnosis, family situation?”
“Dallas Jensen, 2/28/2010—no formal diagnosis, but suspected conduct disorder... amongst other things,” I report, at which point the Doctor’s pen writes furiously. “Trauma in the child’s third year of life, broken home. Doesn’t attend conventional schooling, I have taught him at home for three months.”
The Doctor writes like his life depends on it, and I know every word out of my mouth falls to the ground like lead. The weight of Dallas’s problems can no longer be pushed under the rug. He’s not fixed; he’s not healed—heck, the jury’s out on whether or not he’s even improved. Congratulations, Zoe, you’ve successfully ruined a human and now he’s bleeding out before your very eyes. The Doctor walks away as the police approach.
“We have a few questions. Please step into the hallway,” they request.
I look over at Dallas. He’s lying in a bed for mental patients who shit their pants before murdering the neighbor’s dog. This tiny child with floppy hair and missing bottom baby teeth, this little boy with a passion for pancakes and puppies—in a bed for grown adults deemed unsafe for society. In this split second I decide that even on the off chance this fiasco hasn’t ended my career, I’ve served my last client. I always knew Dallas would be the death of me, and beyond this moment I just need to focus on my personal resurrection.
I don’t know who I am with or without him, or who he is without me—but I guess we’re about to find out.
#
11:49pm
I walk through the door of my house, throwing my keys on the counter. Eight hours have passed since the incident, and I’ve been rushed from pillar to post ever since. After the hospital, I went back to the park to get my car, again to the hospital to see Dallas’s mom and finally home to bed.
I take a shower, lathering myself in soap to wash the filthy stench of failure from my skin. My phone is blowing up; I haven’t answered a single message since this nightmare began. I stand under running water for longer than I should, staring straight ahead at the foggy glass before me. I replay the conversation with his mother in my mind, wishing with all my heart that I could turn back time.
I don’t know what I was expecting her to say—I guess a little, “Good job with the GPS,” or, “I totally understand,” would have been nice. Words wash over me like rain bursting from thick, gray clouds.
“I trusted you.”
“He could have been killed.”
“I have already lost one child—how could you be so irresponsible?”
“You have no idea how it feels to be his mother.”
I drug myself before bed, with the heavy prescription kind I got from the doctor when I was suffering from insomnia. There are so many emotions to feel, and right now I don’t feel anything. I stare at the roof, waiting for sweet sleep to take me far, far away from here.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Star Light, Star Bright
[I see red.]
I wake up slowly; I’m in a bed that smells wrong, in a place I’ve never been before. I’m thirsty, so I look for someone who can help me get some water—but I’m all alone. I get up and try to open the door, but it’s locked. What happened to Funnel Cakes at Discovery Country? What happened to Zoe?
[I see you.]
I greet the day with a sleepy hangover. I try to listen to the birds and seize the moment, but I just don’t feel it. Reality crashes down on me as I struggle to put one foot in front of the other. I get dressed and eat breakfast; I go through the motions like it’s just another day. Another day with Dallas and Cinnamon, another breakfast on the trampoline, another mind-numbing book about dangerous animals. But I know I’m fooling myself.
There’s no breakfast before I make my way to the children's’ psychiatric ward—the creepiest place on Earth.
[I see red.]
A lady walks past me, and I call out to her. She’s coming into the room to see me, and I don’t even mind that she’s a stranger. I am so lonely I don’t know what to do, my body feels so weird and tireder than I have ever been. I rub my eyes and sniff, sniff, sniffle because I am crying and I don’t know why.
“Hey Buddy,” she says. That word is only for Zoe to call me—this is all wrong.
“Where’s Zoe?” I ask, my voice still a little husky.
“I’m not sure who that is, honey,” the lady says.
“Call Zoe,” I say, and tears come a little bit down my cheek.
“I don’t know her number,” she replies, while touching my hair. I want her to stop.
“It’s on a thing around my neck,” I say, trying to grab the lanyard, but it’s gone. I sit on the floor and cry.
[I see you.]
Arriving on the fifth floor, I retrace my steps from the day before. I pass through security and walk towards the ward where Dallas was moved last night. I walk into his room and the bed is empty. I guess they downgraded him to a lower security part of the hospital, so I check in with a nurse to find out.
“Zoe Fletcher? Dallas Jensen’s mother left a note for you,” the nurse reports with a sorry expression. She hands me the letter, and I rip open the envelope. It reads:
Zoe,
There’s no easy way to put this: Dallas has been moved to Starlight Children’s Residential Home in Wyoming. With permission, the Department of Family Services removed him from my care last night, and he will remain in group home care for the foreseeable future. I’m completely overwhelmed, but also relieved he is safe. I just can’t take care of him right now.
I have given permission for you to contact Dallas at Starlight, but for the time being, I cannot handle knowing about his state. He has hurt me beyond forgiveness, and I need some time and space before I can be near him. If you contact him, please don’t give me any updates. I trust that you can handle your relationship with Dallas without my interference. I hope that in time, I will be able to see him as my son again.
I have failed both of my sons, and I plan to make things better for my daughter. Aurora and I are going to move away from the city and start our lives over. I hope to be able to give to her what I was unable to provide for Grey and Dallas. You have always seen Dallas as someone capable of healing, and worthy of love. I wish I were able to see the world through your eyes.
Maybe one day, when the time is right, I will see you again. Thank you for the time you’ve put into our family. I will be eternally grateful for the three wonderful months we spent with the Dallas we once knew.
- Sarah
I sit down on the couch behind me, trembling as I re-read the letter. I knew things were going to change, but I hadn’t anticipated this level of plan alteration. Jeez—Wyoming? He’s all alone in another state, far away from everyone he’s ever known and loved. I don’t know what to make of this. I look at my GPS tracker app, and the dot pulsates in Wyoming. This nightmare is a reality, yet at the same time, it feels like just deserts.
I take my letter and go home.
[I see red.]
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The lady lets me out of the room and shows me the kinds of things to do here at this place. I don’t understand where I am or why I’m here. I wonder if this is real, or part of my dream? I wonder if I fell asleep in the car on the way back from Discovery Country and I’m stuck in a bad dream about a hospital with crazy people.
Two kids are playing table tennis, and one of the kids lost the game, and he is yelling and screaming about it. A man who works here is trying to calm him down, and he’s holding him like when Zoe used to try to kill me. There’s a girl who looks like ten or eleven, and she is walking to the window and poking it, and walking back to the couch. She keeps doing that, and I don’t know why she still thinks it’s fun because it looks boring.
“Dallas,” the Lady says to me, “We need to have a little chat about why you’re here.”
I follow her into this room with soft furnitures like beanbags, and there are colorful paintings on the wall. I thought kids shouldn’t paint on walls? It looks like that’s allowed here. The Lady who works here has a blue outfit on, looks like the pajamas that doctors wear in hospitals. She has dark brown skin and a necklace with a picture of herself and her name (not a picture of her name, just the writing of her name, which reads like “Alicka”). She sits on the beanbag closer to the door, and I sit down too.
“My name is Alicia, and this place is called Starlight Children’s Home. You might not remember what happened at the Discovery Kingdom yesterday, but something very, very dangerous occurred, and you ended up at the hospital. Because you ran away from the doctors, they gave you some medicine that made you fall asleep.”